


discord

by Hope



Series: Rodriguez 'verse [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time in Mexico, The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-27
Updated: 2004-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/25016.html</p></blockquote>





	discord

when casey wakes up there's the biggest fucking mexican he's ever seen sitting in the front seat, black-sleeved arm draped across the back of the bench seat, fingers loose below the dirty kid leather glove-thing covering his hand.

casey fumbles with the handle behind his back, lurch-stumbles out backwards as the door creaks open and deposits his ass on the gravel.  It's drier outside, the air is hot and tight like it's going to ignite, scraping dusty fingers in casey's throat, sensitive from the muggy air inside the car.

how fucking long did he sleep? his face feels hot and swollen, his eyes gritty as he squints in the almost-twillight.  the car is parked about ten yards from the road; to his right a garish, dust-coated building bears the sign that reads _BENNY'S WORLD OF LIQUOR_ when casey blinks the sleep-blur out of his eyes. 

he's thirsty and he needs a piss, and between those two and the distinct lack of zeke, he's not in the best of moods.  not to mention the fucking _mexican_ in the front seat of the GTO.  shit. his _camera's_ in the glove compartment...

a sudden gleam of red from the increasingly grey horizon catches his gaze and he turns to see the familiar silhouette of zeke's half-leaning-back, half-hunched-forward posture as he cups a glowing ball of light towards his mouth.  the smoke catches the faint glimmer of the embers when he blows it out again and casey wraps his arm around his own belly and trudges purposely towards the road, sharp stones digging though the thin rubber soles of his sneakers.

"what the fuck, zeke?" he rasps when he's close enough, and zeke's eyes are shadowed when he turns to face casey, glimmering reflectively a little from the darkness when he takes another drag, like he's from some fucking movie that casey used to go see at the double feature special in Lisbon, two towns over.

zeke shrugs, scuffs his foot idly in the gravel.  "what what the fuck?" he drawls, as if nothing is fucking wrong at all.

"why the shit is there someone sitting in our car?"

"hitchhiker.  picked him up... oh, round one-fifty miles back."

casey frowns, the skin pulling taught on his forehead.  "don't you think that's a bit..."

"a bit what?" zeke quirks a brow. 

"you should have asked me first."

"you were asleep."

"so fucking what!  zeke --!"

"what?" zeke's voice is suddenly sharp and harsh; not the first time casey's been the recipient of that kind of tone from zeke, but his stupid fucking body's conditioned a certain stupid fucking way and he still automatically flinches at the vocal edge slicing dangerously close to him.  he swallows hard.

"we're in this fucking shit together.  you can't just go picking up random people off the freeway.  it's not ... not _safe_."  and,  uh, he really needs to piss now, and then go back to sleep, preferably for the next year or so.  he wonders if _BENNY'S WORLD OF LIQUOR_ could offer him something that would burn less than the mexican sun and make him feel less fucked and freaked upon waking.

zeke pulls on his cigarette thoughtfully, not answering casey's hissed half-accusation.  casey crouches down near where the asphalt has been slathered onto the sand like icing on a really fucked-up cake. casey picks at the peeling skin on his upper arm, stubbly fingernails pulling away the delicate paper-layers, glancing down briefly as they flutter down into near-darkness at his feet. 

"that sash he's wearing?" zeke says at length, crunching his cigarette butt underfoot before tapping out another from the packet in his back pocket.  "it's the mexican presidential sash.  cool, huh? what a character."

casey blinks, at a loss for words for at least thirty seconds.  "the fuck?  where do you come up with this shit, zeke?  all your fucking useless knowledge?"

"books and stuff. you know. around."

"oh right," casey says, mouth twisting at the sudden bitter taste.  "all those books you read instead of graduating your senior year on your second try, right."  he struggles to his feet abruptly, head rushing a little with the sudden movement and he's still fucking drunk on sleep and his mouth tastes fucking awful, like the mexican desert shat in it.  zeke doesn't call after him as he strides (half-stumbles on the sharp rocks) towards the world of liquor who's orbit they've somehow been drawn into, like some fucking event horizon, frozen on the edge, just zeke, casey, and some big fucking mexican.

and casey really needs a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/25016.html


End file.
